The Lost Elves
by Kaye Thorn
Summary: A wandering Silvan Elf is led on startling quests through Lothlórien in search for the lost voices of the wood, and an extraordinary elleth that haunts his dreams.


Part I 

_"We are the voices of the wandering wind,  
Which moan for rest and rest can never find;  
Lo! as the wind is, so is…life,  
A moan, a sigh, a sob, a storm, a strife."_

-Sir Edwin Arnold

Silently the Elf stalked across the ground, unsure in his footsteps, but still graceful and light, as his kind were naturally. His blue eyes searched afar, hoping to catch the flash of an arrow or the bright hair of a fellow Galadhrim soldier. Never would he admit it, but he was finally lost. In his excitement and the frenzy of chasing Orcs with his assigned troop, he'd run too far from the others. How ashamed his mother would be to hear her only son had strayed in the land of her birth and kin!

Faniel, his mother, had returned with her husband to his native Mirkwood several Yéni [1] earlier. She lived there ever since, raising a son named Arothir and a daughter, Gilmith. Their lives had changed a coranar [2] before, when his father was slaughtered by Orcs. Arothir found his father's broken desecrated body among other dead Elves, Captain Arthad's chest rent with evil arrows. To help him (who looked so much like his father) with peace of mind, Faniel sent her son south to the gold edged land Lothlórien. After a long dark trip, he gladly entered the home of his grandfather, his grandmother departed recently to the Havens.

Unfortunately, a week after his arrival, his grandfather Gilfanon discovered Arothir was inept with the bow and knives, and took action. In a firm but kind gesture, he sent his grandson off to train for several months with his former unit in the Elvish military forces. Assigned to a strict no nonsense corps, they honed his skills to expertise, but in the process broke his spirit. He was unused to this harsh lifestyle, in disposition, he was a lover of nature and lore, his only aspirations to someday have a big garden and join King Thranduil's court. With his lulling spirit and foreign birth, the other troops treated him disdainfully, making him an outcast mentally and socially.

He came out of his daydreams, as a twig snapped loudly beneath his foot. For a moment he was still, half anticipating (and wishing) that his group would come sprawling out of the bushes, his captain berating him for lacking navigation, quietness, and elfishness. How had they expected him to find his way around? This was the first time he'd been to the other side of Lórien, let alone his _first time_ out of the city walls. There was a chill in his skin (not that Elves were ever cold) wrought of lonesomeness and deficit of affection. Since his arrival, no one had hugged him or given him a warm or friendly word, not even his grandfather. A longing for his mother and sister remained, especially for the company of female Elves in general, whose presence was denied in the military training/living areas.

Exasperatedly he eyed a tall grey trunked tree that seemed very familiar. On closer examination, he found it to be the exact one he had passed before, one of its branches growing crookedly in a tell tale sign. Impatiently but still hesitant, he approached the massive Mallorn. Perhaps if he climbed it, he would be able to find which way to return to the city. Awkwardly he grasped the lowest branch with his hands, heaving his body up with a slight jump. Only his sprightliness let him accomplish the endeavor. Nearly toppling over the branch, he clawed for the grey trunk, securing himself tightly with both arms. A faint thudding in his ears increased as he edged higher with each branch, finally stopping only one third of the way up. Even at this height, he knew it was the farthest he had ever gone in a tree. Reluctance and a fear of falling off flimsy things made him clumsy and unnatural on trees (especially very tall foreign ones). A sick weak feeling grew in the pit of his stomach whenever he peered upward, knowing he should go up. Golden sunlight shone above his head, lighting up the canopy of leaves and yellow blossoms.

He sighed and closed his eyes, hoping for some sanity from within. The forest silence settled in his mind, as if to suppress his anxiety and hopelessness. Unexpectedly he heard distant melodic gurgling, that could only be heard near a stream. Immediately he sat up and listened, finding it coming from the right. Heedlessly he clambered down the Mallorn and across the ground, heading in the direction he heard it.

Unwittingly as he sped toward the sound, his footfalls ceased to sound; only the rustling of leaves was heard as he passed by. He emerged from the trees, immediately his feet slid out from under him, sending him sprawling down a cleft hill. The landing threw him forward into a muddy bank of grass hemmed by water. Disconcertedly he wiped the dirt from his face and lifted his head awkwardly. A stream shimmered before his eyes, blinding him for a moment.

Sighing, he got to his feet, wistfully looking in both directions. Perhaps the river might lead him closer to Caras Galadhon, for he knew a few ran through these woods.. He brushed the dirt from his front, and carefully picked his way back up the hill, slipping several times on the way. At the top he stood once more, freezing suddenly as a new sound came to his ears. A light clear melody seemed to waft up the water towards him, playing on the waves of the river. Rightfully, his imagination told him that he heard words flowing with it, a whispering song among the shore grass.

"Tolo, revio ah nin,

Lim celon a taur, or orodrim a thâr

Tolo, revio ah nin.

Come, wander with me,

On river and forest, o'er mountain and lea.

Come, wander with me."

Eagerness rose in his heart against his will, led by the spellbinding words. Out of his common sense, he began to follow it along the river, walking along with the current.

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[1] Yéni = 144 years

[2] coranar= 1 year

* * *

**A/N: **A bit more to come… 


End file.
